


The Smell of Destiny

by orphan_account



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, M/M, rating: R - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's aroma has been driving Arthur crazy for weeks. Finally, one training injury forces them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Smell of Destiny

**Author's Note:**

> Set within S1 timeframe, no specifics, mentions of the Great Dragon.  
> Notes: Written for (and read over by) [i_know_its_0ver](i-know-its-0ver.livejournal.com/) , who was positively fantastic about it, as always. Any mistakes are 100% mine, not hers.  
> This was originally supposed to be a quick drabble, but ended up taking over my BB for a few days.

Arthur’s relationship with Merlin had never really included hugging -- theirs was more of a clap on the shoulder, smack in the head sort of friendship -- but when  _it_  started happening, he began going out of his way to, literally, stay out of Merlin’s way. They had next to no physical contact, and Arthur insisted Merlin carried out all close-proximity tasks (such as dressing him in his armour) at lightning speed.

It wasn’t as though Arthur was opposed to a little male bonding. In fact, he encouraged the odd embrace or two amongst his knights -- a little camaraderie never hurt anyone. He even granted Leon the occasional shirtless arm wrestle in the armoury, so it wasn’t as if anybody could accuse him of  _avoiding_  the touch of another.

Despite his constant show of nonchalance, Arthur was hopelessly aware of the reasons behind his new-found aversion to all things Merlin. He knew Merlin wouldn’t ever mention it, but -- just in case -- Arthur always kept a barrage of foolproof reasons relating to  _social standing_  and how  _you really don’t bathe enough, Merlin_  locked away in his head. However untrue, these insults were the only thing Arthur had to hide the truth, and he’d been hiding it for a while:

Merlin smelled fantastic... delicious...  _magical_.

At first, the indications had been small. Perhaps, one or two of Arthur’s breaths had been a little shallower than the others. And maybe he’d felt the smallest shiver run down his spine as Merlin  _wafted_  around the room, seeming determined to make Arthur light in the head. He swept back and forth, each time washing that scent over Arthur, and brushing along his back, or against his knee. It was enough to drive  _anyone_  crazy, let alone a man as young, energetic and painfully celibate as Arthur.

When he discovered that these ‘fragranced feelings’ had migrated from his nostrils, and pooled in the pit of his stomach, Arthur began to worry. It wasn’t long before he caught himself staring at Merlin’s long fingers as they fumbled with the laces of a gauntlet, wrapped themselves around the back of a chair or the frame of a door, and -- Lord forbid -- when they pulled at Merlin’s scarf and rubbed along his sore neck. Then, Arthur knew he couldn’t possible carry on this way.

He began spending as much time as he could outside in the fresh air, attempting to train any and all of the useless young nobles who waltzed in through the city gates. Most of them, in Arthur’s well-informed and wholly professional opinion, were idiots with appalling hand-eye coordination and no real passion for anything -- least of all the art of strategy and combat. He stuck at it anyway, determined not to give in and scuttle back to his chambers and the walking, talking heap of temptation that was Merlin.

By the second week of this ‘training’, Arthur had given up wearing his armour altogether. Not only did it mean less time spent breathing in Merlin’s air, but it usually proved to be wholly pointless anyway. However, during an afternoon session, one of the bumbling nobles managed to fall backwards and smack Arthur’s right ear with a blunt (albeit, very hard and heavy) sword. After sufficiently crushing any hope the imbecile had of ever amounting to anything, and ousting him from the next ten years’ worth of training sessions, Arthur stormed off to Gaius’ rooms.

Cursing, he thrust open the door, and then succeeded in stumbling over a small pile of crates and crashing to the ground.

“Be careful, sire,” Gaius called from across the room. He didn’t need to look up from where he was meticulously studying a vial of blue liquid in order to recognise the voice now spouting profanities from a rather undignified position on the floor.

Arthur dragged himself slowly to his feet, grimacing as he rubbed a brand new throbbing pain at the back of his head. He’d hit the floor pretty hard, and now he had  _two_  head injuries in need of attention.

“I’m hurt,” he informed Gaius, still squinting from the pain.

“It’s not fatal,”

“How do you know?”

“Because you got up again,” Gaius replied cooly, all the while not taking his eyes off the vial in front of him, “but if you’re really that concerned, I’ll have Merlin look it over. He’s not a bad physician, you know.”

“Why can’t you do it?” Arthur demanded, sounding a little more desperate than he’d have liked.

“ _Because_ ,” Gaius sighed, finally gracing Arthur with a withering look, “there are three families in the lower town suffering from a particularly nasty bout of sickness, and I’m in the middle of preparing fifteen batches of potion for them.”

Arthur slumped his shoulders, “Oh.”

He stood there awkwardly for a few minutes, waiting for Gaius to say something else. At last, it became clear he had no intention of doing so, and Arthur reluctantly asked the silence, “Where’s Merlin, then?”

“In his room,” Gaius replied at once, “you should go on up. I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“What-- I--” Arthur stuttered. The thought of being  _examined_  by Merlin was distressing enough, but in his room? Alone? Locked between four walls that would doubtlessly be thick with that oh-so-special aroma?

No. No  _way_. Arthur had just spent two weeks successfully keeping as far away from Merlin as possible, and there was no hope in Avalon of him coming out of an ordeal like that with his self-respect intact. “Why can’t he come down here instead?”

Gaius looked up from his vial once again and gazed around the room -- indicating for Arthur to do the same. It was only then that Arthur fully noticed how mounds of books and crates of herbs were scattered across every surface, the few wooden tables and stools hidden beneath an avalanche of old papers and dirty jars.

Slightly nonplussed, Arthur looked back at Gaius, whose only explanation was, “It’s a very complicated remedy,” before pointing behind him and up the stairs to Merlin’s room.

Arthur huffed, and plodded over, his stomach knotting tighter with every step.

  
*

  
To say Merlin looked a little confused at Arthur’s timid knock on the door, and spluttering explanation as to why he was hovering there uncomfortably in the first place, might have been a bit of an understatement. Merlin frowned, his lips pouted slightly -- not that Arthur noticed -- and his eyes flicked up and down Arthur’s body.

“I thought you were angry,” Merlin said hesitantly, his words sounding like a question, “either that or being nice and giving me a well-earned rest.”

“Don’t be stupid, Merlin. When have you ever  _earned_  your rest?” Arthur jibed, immediately feeling his shoulders relax at the cool familiarity of the insult.

Merlin frowned for a moment longer, but then something inside him gave way and his face cracked into a genuine grin -- the widest Arthur had ever seen. He’d never have thought someone could look so damn cheerful, and he was helpless to do anything but smile back (although he made sure it looked suitably begrudging).

“Come and sit on the bed, then,” Merlin sighed heavily, a smile still playing across his lips.

At these words, Arthur became defensive again, “Why can’t I stay here?”

“Because I can’t examine you standing at the top of a staircase, Arthur.”

Knowing there really was no other option, Arthur edged warily towards Merlin’s bed. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in Merlin’s room, but before he hadn’t been fighting down the urge to do something  _very_  undignified and not at all noble. He was so in tune with Merlin’s smell, he could feel it pressing in on him from every side.

Merlin was affecting more than just Arthur’s nose, now -- it was as though he’d been imprinted on every one of Arthur’s senses. Arthur’s skin tingled and fluttered as though soft hands were poised just above the surface, and it tickled everywhere his clothes touched him. His throat was suddenly dry with thirst and his tongue felt too thick for his mouth. Arthur had no idea what was causing his body to act up in this way, but he prayed for it to stop, or at least for the strength to withstand it until he was free to flee back to his own chambers. It would probably help if Merlin stopped breathing so loudly -- or was the room just quiet? Perhaps it was Arthur’s sharp, hunter’s hearing.

Yes, that was definitely it.

Perching himself on the very edge of the bed, it took every ounce of Arthur’s self-control not to gaze up at Merlin with some kind of awful puppy face. Instead, he just stared straight ahead, pursing his lips in concentration.

Unfortunately, he quickly discovered that this made very little difference. Merlin had to lean in perilously close and cradle Arthur’s left cheek in one hand to get a proper look at his injuries. Merlin’s hands were warm, and his long fingers prodded at the sore lump at the back of Arthur’s head.

“Ow!”

“Oops, sorry,” Merlin smirked, not looking sorry at all.

“Merlin, it’s fine, really. I don’t even know why I came here, I’ve survived much worse,” Arthur could feel his resolve crumbling as Merlin’s breath tickled over his right cheek, and he knew he had to make a break for it -- now or never.

Merlin clearly had no intention of giving up so easily. He tittered and tilted Arthur’s head to the left, squinted down at his ear. Gently, he began pushing Arthur’s hair out of the way and moved in even closer beside him, muttering, “It’s a little swollen.”

Merlin’s fingers trailed down, running lightly behind Arthur’s ear and onto his jaw, and that was when it happened. It was unmistakable, inexcusable and altogether unavoidable; Arthur’s eyes slid shut, and his throat let slip the smallest of groans.

Everything went still. Merlin didn’t snatch his hand back, but he didn’t keep moving it either -- he just froze. Arthur’s eyes stayed shut and he remained half in a trance, the silence stretching out around him. The smell and the feel of that room -- _Merlin’s_  room -- had finally taken hold, and he let himself be overwhelmed by the aching want that had been growing in his stomach.

For that reason, the sudden quiet didn’t shake Arthur; it didn’t allow him to flush and grow numb from embarrassment. He was aware of how Merlin’s breath had caught in his throat, and he could still sense the fingers pressing softly against his jaw.

Without a single coherent thought, Arthur moved. He was acting purely on impulse as he arched his back and pushed up against Merlin’s fingers, trying to coax them back into motion.

A short gasp escaped Merlin’s lips, but the loud bang of the bedroom door shutting of its own accord a moment later drew Arthur’s attention. He turned towards the sound, his eyes opening slightly, and mumbled, “How did that...?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Merlin said quickly, pulling Arthur back to face him again.

Then he thrust forward and kissed Arthur’s lips. There was no tongue, but it definitely  _wasn’t_  tentative. The long-delayed passion of it made Arthur’s hands shoot up instinctively to grasp the back of Merlin’s neck, encouraging him.

They stayed like that for what could easily have been a whole two minutes -- taking turns to push forward and pull back, Arthur trying to express just how much he’d yearned for this kiss, and Merlin doing the same. They pulled apart momentarily every now and then, gulping air, but their groans were the only things that broke the silence; they were deep and guttural as each drifted into a cloud of lust.

With one particularly determined push, Arthur wrapped two arms around Merlin’s waist and pulled him down onto the bed. Finally level, Arthur moved one of his hands up to the back of Merlin’s head, and held him firmly as they kissed. Arthur drew back then, ever so slightly, and began kissing Merlin’s chin and jaw.

It wasn’t long before his tongue found its way onto the salty warmth of Merlin’s neck, and induced some  _delicious_ whimpers. Arthur sucked and kissed harder, desperate to hear those sounds again and again. By this point, Merlin’s eyes were shut tight, but Arthur’s had opened, and he raptly watched how  _his_  tongue and  _his_  kisses were reducing Merlin to a mush of heavy breathing and incoherence.

After one particularly loud moan, Merlin nuzzled down to catch Arthur’s lips. They kissed opened-mouthed, and Arthur felt the hotness of Merlin’s breath inside him. Arthur wrapped his fingers in Merlin’s dark hair, and as they pushed together particularly hard, their tongues finally tangled.

Arthur couldn’t think straight for every warm, wet second of it. He tried to remember that this was  _Merlin’s_  mouth clamped to his, those were  _Merlin’s_  hands grasping at the back of his neck, and that the fingers twisting through the hair in the nape of his neck were  _Merlin’s_.

The groans passing between them urged Arthur on. He allowed Merlin to explore his mouth, and focused instead on his left hand, which he’d left lying forgotten around Merlin’s waist. He moved it slowly; creeping down Merlin’s stomach, and teasing lightly between his thighs. Arthur trailed his fingers over the inside of Merlin’s right thigh, and simultaneously felt a grin against his lips.

He was touching Merlin --  _caressing_  him -- and Merlin was smiling about it.

There were no words to express what Arthur was feeling; there were only kisses.

Still grinning with reddened lips, Merlin shifted on the bed next to Arthur, spreading his thighs a little more. Arthur couldn’t quite believe what was happening, and he stared at Merlin in silence for a moment. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he stared straight back, almost daring Arthur to keep going.

Arthur lunged forward, moving so quickly he heard breath catch in Merlin’s throat again. Merlin fell backwards and lay awkwardly on the bed, his legs dangling off the edge. Now it was Arthur’s turn to grin. Kneeling next to Merlin, he leaned down to kiss him again, all the while keeping his hand between Merlin’s thighs.

Arthur felt Merlin’s legs part even further, and at once knew his kiss hadn’t been any kind of distraction. Could Merlin be craving this just as much as he was?

Playfully, he walked his fingers upwards, prompting a snort of laughter. He knew Merlin was laughing at his ability to act like a prat even at a moment like that, and Arthur guessed it must be amusing in some way -- although he  _had_  hoped it would be closer to endearing. In the end, it didn’t matter, because the second Arthur’s forefinger stroked across the hardness in Merlin’s breeches, all echoes of a giggle were gone, and soft groaning filled the air again.

Arthur lifted his leg slightly, and rested his left knee on the bed between Merlin’s, who then squirmed particularly violently as Arthur began using his entire hand to touch him. The sounds escaping Merlin’s lips were loud and careless, and so close together they could almost have been one continuous sound. Arthur kept kissing him sloppily and eagerly on his lips, breaking apart only to suck at the base of Merlin’s jaw -- Arthur was doing everything he could to ensure Merlin _never_  stopped making those noises.

The fingers of his left hand stroked along Merlin’s cock, straining beneath his breeches. Merlin’s right hand lay beside him, fingers twitching as shivers of pleasure ran through his body. Now confident and determined, Arthur reached up and pinned Merlin’s right hand against the pillow above his head. Their fingers entwined, and Arthur pressed down heavily -- partly for support, and partly just to hold Merlin where he was, without any hope of escape.

Merlin’s hips bucked upwards as he groaned. The leg between Arthur’s knees came up to brush against his stiff cock. At the contact, Arthur moaned loudly enough to rival Merlin. His eyes snapped shut, and when he opened them, it was to find Merlin gazing dazedly up at him.

Merlin’s eyes were dark, and it looked as though he couldn’t quite focus on anything. They stared at each other for a few seconds, while a smile cracked across Merlin’s face. He wet his lips, and at last whispered hoarsely, “Arthur.”

Arthur frowned, his head clearing a little. The smell in the room was no longer sending his mind reeling, and his skin wasn’t prickling like it had been. He could feel Merlin’s warm body close to him, and that was enough to make him never want to move again.

But this was  _Merlin_. Merlin, who treated him how no one else dared; Merlin, who was loyal until the end; Merlin, who seemed to know everything and nothing all at once. Arthur’s stomach squirmed uncomfortably. Did he really want to do this? Here, on this bed, they’d sunk into their own little bubble. They’d forgotten that Arthur was a prince and Merlin a servant. They’d forgotten that they were  _just friends_. It seemed they’d forgotten reality all together.

Desire had dogged Arthur for weeks, dancing through his head every time Merlin had come close to him. He’d held it off because he knew what it could mean, and it didn’t bear thinking about. He’d told himself it was stupid and irresponsible; he’d told himself to be  _realistic_. 

Kneeling there, staring down at Merlin’s reddened lips and his neck blotched with kisses, Arthur realised he didn’t want reality, he just wanted Merlin.

  
*

  
“That was...”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Arthur sighed into Merlin’s shoulder.

“I mean it was really...”

“ _Yeah_ ,”

“I didn’t know anything could...”

“ _Yeah_ ,”

Merlin snorted and hit Arthur’s arm, which was an extraordinary feat considering the way he was pinned to the bed by Arthur lying across most of his chest and legs. Arthur smiled -- he knew he was being an arse. Moving his head to a more comfortable angle, he pressed a quick kiss against Merlin’s bare collarbone. He felt Merlin’s fingers toying with his hair absentmindedly. They traced circles, and then spread out slowly, moving from the top of his head towards the back.

“Ow! Damnit, Merlin,” Arthur’s hand shot up and hit Merlin’s away, “it still hurts, y’know. You’re not a very good physician.”

“Well you’re not a very good patient,” Merlin smirked, “and it’d probably help if you weren’t  _lying_  on your injured ear.”

Grumpily, Arthur shifted onto his back, and gingerly rested his head against Merlin’s shoulder again. “Shut up, Merlin.”

Outside the room, they heard the faint slam of a door. Merlin’s muscles tensed suddenly, and at once he demanded, “what was that?”

“Probably Gaius taking those potions to the lower town,” Arthur mumbled uncaringly.

“So he was  _here_  the whole time?” Merlin’s words were a little strangled, so Arthur made an enormous effort to sit up and turn to look at him properly.

“I guess so. Why does it matter?”

“Did you  _hear_  the racket I was making?” propping himself up against the wall behind his bed, Merlin’s eyes grew wider and wider.

Arthur could see he was almost panicking, and tried to reason with him, although he found it hard not to be surprised by how Merlin was more upset about Gaius being home than the fact he had just seen (and touched) parts of Arthur neither of them would  _ever_  forget. “Yeah, well, you knew he was here. He came up and shut the door right before you kissed me the first time.”

“He  _what_?”

“He closed the door! Look!” Arthur pointed at Merlin’s flimsy wooden door, which appeared to be bolted shut, “I definitely didn’t do that when I came in. I left it open.”

Merlin looked almost relieved, “ _Oh_. That wasn’t Gaius!”

“Then who was it?”

A frown passed across Merlin’s face, and he bit his lip, but said nothing. Arthur watched him, annoyed, “See! It must have been Gaius.”

Merlin nodded, looking a little distracted. Then he blinked quickly and shook his head, before reaching his arms out to Arthur, and beckoning him over. Sighing heavily, Arthur leaned back against Merlin’s chest again, and they sat there in silence for a moment.

Their hands tangled loosely together on top of the sheets, and Arthur felt a shy kiss against his cheek. He smiled again, and tugged at Merlin’s hand as he heard a whisper in his ear, “It’s going to start feeling weird soon. Maybe we should talk?” Merlin clearly wanted Arthur to make the serious decisions for both of them, but he was far too distracted.

“Merlin,” he said loudly, “I’m sorry, but I cannot possibly talk to you about this when I’m sat here with a perfect view of everything your mother gave you.”

Merlin followed Arthur’s eyes down to the ties of his own breeches, flushed redder than the flag of Camelot, and hurriedly fumbled to cover himself up.

Laughing, Arthur averted his gaze, and looked around the room. It was quite plain, but the walls were dotted with scraps of parchment, each home to a dragon sketch. Merlin’s skills had obviously improved the more he’d drawn. The oldest of the pictures was messy, and focused on a large chain and a dark rock, with a dragon appearing through the shadows in the background. A new sketch was pinned to Merlin’s cupboard; there was a great deal of fire burning out from terrifying jaws, and above it something was written in another language. Arthur squinted, trying to suss out exactly what it said, and _how_  Merlin had suddenly become bilingual.

“What’s with all the dragons?” he asked eventually, giving up trying to figure it out for himself.

“Hm?” Merlin was still staring at his lap, trying to tie his breeches.

“All the dragons,” Arthur waved his hand in the air, indicating Merlin’s artwork, “why do you draw them?”

“Oh, erm,” Merlin looked up at him for a second, and then broke eye contact again and continued fussing over his fastenings, “he’s-- uhm, they’re part of a story my mother used to tell me.”

Satisfied, Arthur continued scoping the room. His eyes slid over the mess of clothes on the floor (some of which, admittedly, were his own), stopping to gaze at the corner of a book protruding from under Merlin’s blue shirt.

“What’s  _that_?” he demanded incredulously, “When do you have time to read, Merlin?”

“Oh,” Merlin said dumbly, gaping at the small section of book poking out from under the general mess, “erm, I read at night sometimes.”

“What’s it about?” Arthur made to sit forward, and screwed his eyes up, trying to read the title on the page, “Love... And... Lust... Sp...” he began slowly, but the end of the last word was covered up.

“Stop!” Merlin almost shouted, and Arthur turned back to look at him.

“What?”

“Just...” Merlin looked around, his brow furrowed, and he said frantically, “It’s almost sunset! You, erm, you have that meeting with your father. I reminded you this morning, remember?”

Arthur swore and jumped to his feet, pulling his shirt over his head and hardly bothering to tie his breeches properly. Stopping half way through the door, he turned back to Merlin, who hadn’t moved an inch, and smiled weakly, “Would you mind coming up to my chambers tonight?”

Merlin’s eyes widened, and he smirked.

“I don’t mean like  _that_!” Arthur blurted out at once, realising how it must have sounded, “I mean to talk!”

“Oh,” Merlin smiled, doing a terrible job of fighting down a snort of laughter, “Alright. I’ll see you later.”

Shooting Merlin one last look that he hoped spelled out  _I’ll get you for that_ , Arthur bolted out of the room and down the stairs to reluctantly rejoin the boring smells and cold air of ‘real life’.


End file.
